


Just Another Mission

by tiffdawg



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23114974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiffdawg/pseuds/tiffdawg
Summary: It almost seems odd that after all of your shared missions, the two of you have never pretended to be married as part your cover story before. But, as you stand in the doorway of your luxurious Manhattan hotel room, you were starting to see the benefit of not posing as a couple. You were also beginning to suspect your handler might be playing some sort of cruel joke on you.Of course, in order to maintain your cover, she only booked one hotel room for the pair of you. And, of course, there’s only one bed.“Well, Agent Rosé, we are supposed to be married,” Whiskey quips with a wink as he moves past you into the lush, gilded room.
Relationships: Jack | Whiskey/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 186





	1. Just Another Mission

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Please enjoy this trope-ridden, cliché-filled Agent Whiskey x reader oneshot that popped into my head at 2am the other night and demanded to be written.

Since taking on the mantel of Agent Rosé at Statesman, you’d been partnered with Agent Whiskey on numerous missions over the years. On paper, this was just another mission. It really shouldn’t have been any different from the rest. The two of you were tasked with infiltrating an insider trading ring on Wall Street that was doing enough damage to the stock market for Statesman to take notice. It was certainly nothing out of your ordinary purview.

As such, you and Agent Whiskey were going undercover as the heads of an up-and-coming southern investment firm looking to expand up north. In order to give your assumed identities a bit more depth and secure invitations to the criminal group’s private social events, your handler back at HQ thought it would be helpful if the two of you went undercover as a married couple. A regular twenty-first century power couple, if you will. The men and women involved in the insider trading ring, for all of their faults, seemed to be family-oriented people. Or, at the very least, beach parties for the kids in the Hamptons and private dinners at the Upper East Side’s finest restaurants with spouses served as the perfect pretext to meet to trade secrets, negotiate deals under the table, and discuss illicit plans for the future.

It almost seems odd that after all of your shared missions, the two of you have never pretended to be married as part your cover story before. But, as you stand in the doorway of your luxurious Manhattan hotel room, you were starting to see the benefit of not posing as a couple. You were also beginning to suspect your handler might be playing some sort of cruel joke on you.

Of course, in order to maintain your cover, she only booked one hotel room for the pair of you. It bolstered your cover story with the hotel staff and in the likely instance you were followed back to your hotel, it would help you keep up appearances. And, of course, there’s only one bed.

“Well, Agent Rosé, we are supposed to be married,” Whiskey quips with a wink as he moves past you into the lush, gilded room. Clearly, your displeasure is written all over your face.

You roll your eyes at your hotshot partner’s receding figure before following after him. You do your best to shake yourself out of it because you really don’t have any time to worry about something as trivial as an unexpected, slightly inconvenient sleeping situation. Instead, you refocus on the mission, hoisting your overpacked suitcase onto the downy, king-sized bed. You dig out the dress keeper and peruse your options for a moment before selecting an elegant black gown with matching evening gloves for the gala you were attending that night. It would be your first appearance as Mr. and Mrs. Castillo and the perfect opportunity to charm your way into the inner circle of the one percent. That is your priority.

… . …

Hours later, after an evening of drinking the best champagne, dancing with your fake husband, and successfully socializing with your targets, you’ve finally returned to your lavish Midtown hotel for the night. With your gloved hand still resting on the crook of Whiskey’s elbow, he leads you from the elevator to the door of your shared suite. He’s recounting a story about a time he talked his way out of a rather precarious standoff involving international arms dealers, a former US ambassador, and the disgraced prince of a small European country. You’re so absolutely enthralled by his story and the silky southern accent that drips off of his every word that for a split second you forget that you’re not actually married to the man on your arm. The thought startles you and you quickly remove yourself from your fellow agent, brushing past him when he eventually swings open the door to your shared room.

Aside from the occasional question about something that was said at the gala, things are quiet as you both type up your mission reports for the day. He finishes first, which is surprising for someone who’s known to be a bit long-winded, and disappears into the ensuite. Perhaps you would’ve completed yours by now if you didn't steal glances at your fellow agent in between every sentence. Your eyes are practically crossing when you finally submit your report. It’d been a productive day, but you are more than ready to sleep for the next eight hours.

“What are you doing?” you inquire with a light laugh. You’d just finished your nightly routine in the bathroom and emerged to find Whiskey attempting to stretch out his long form on the loveseat sofa.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he retorts back. “I’m going to sleep so I can be well rested for our champagne brunch with the Montgomery’s at the grand old Plaza tomorrow morning.” After a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand he amended with a sigh, “Or rather, later today.”

“On the couch?” you ask, playing with a loose string on the hem of your much-too-short sleep shorts.

“Well, where else would you like me to sleep, darlin’?” he asks in response. You don’t even flinch at the pet names anymore and instead the moniker pulls at something in your chest. Part of you thinks it’d be best for both of you to just leave it at that. He’s trying to be the gentleman and if he sleeps on the couch, all of your problems would be solved. Another part of you…well, you don’t want your partner running on fumes with a stiff neck while you’re in the middle of a mission, do you? Your eyes flick over to the bed and their movement doesn’t go unnoticed by the attentive agent. “Now, I know I may push my luck flirting with you, sweetheart, but I never want to make you uncomfortable. I’m fine spending the night here on the sofa.”

“Who said I would be uncomfortable, Jack?” Your words come out quieter than you intended, but you know he heard you. Rather than wait for him to reply, you crawl into bed, leaving plenty of space for him to join you. After a long moment of consideration, and a forlorn look back at the stiff, overstuffed sofa, he relents.

Unsure how to position yourself with your fellow agent in bed with you, you toss for quite a bit. When you roll over for the fifth time, finally deciding that facing away from him would be the best option, he reaches out and pulls you securely into his chest. You gasp, surprised at his bold move, but find that he feels warm and solid against you. You’re so close you can feel his heartbeat behind you, drumming a steady, spellbinding rhythm. His arm stays wrapped around your waist, almost reassuringly, and your body relaxes into his.

“You settled now?” he asks, and you can just about hear his grin.

“Yes, I am,” you whisper back.

“And you’re still comfortable with this arrangement?” His voice is lower, little more than a breath against the shell of your ear but he’s not flirting with you now. His usual confidence is gone, replaced by the slightest hint of nervousness.

“Very much so. I promise,” you answer genuinely, resting a light hand over his where it sits against your abdomen in the soft space below your ribs. His only response is a slight squeeze around your waist.

With that, your eyes close and you let yourself drift off with the sound of his steady breathing behind you to lull you to sleep.

… . …

Much of your second day in the city was spent wining and dining a pair of your targets, another husband and wife duo. She was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company and he was the sole heir to an old New England fortune. You and the Mrs. stole away for a bit in the afternoon to do some shopping on Fifth Avenue. While Statesman had allotted you quite the budget to keep up the appearance of a certain lifestyle, you weren’t sure how Champ was going to feel about your new Chanel pocketbook. It might not have been a strictly necessary purchase, but it was an excellent way to bond with one of your main targets.

“You and your husband make quite the pair,” she says while running her painted fingers over a stack of silk scarves at Saint Laurent. “He’s so obviously smitten with you.”

You preoccupy yourself with the rows of oversized sunglasses, hoping to hide your uneasiness at her comment. At least you and Whiskey were selling the married couple bit.

“I got lucky,” you reply with a lighthearted laugh.

That night, he’s already in bed when you come out of the bathroom. You can’t help but watch him for a minute from the threshold. He’s sitting up against the headboard wearing a white tee shirt that only accentuates his broad figure and, you presume, he’s reading over mission files on his tablet as his eyes scan the screen from behind thick rimmed glasses. You’d learned over the years that his swagger, while not entirely unwarranted, often covered Jack’s studious, serious side. He is an effective agent because of his hard work, diligent research, and careful planning. It isn’t a side of himself he showed many people, but you are among the privileged few.

After a moment, he meets your gaze from across the room. His eyes trail over your body, taking in your sleep shorts and oversized shirt, and a soft smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. You were well accustomed to his appreciative looks, but this was different, almost intimate.

“Well, darlin’, are you about ready for bed?” he asks. The question, while perfectly valid, struck you as something so wholesomely domestic.

You nod and offer him a small smile before slipping into bed next to him. He considers you for a moment longer then sighs to himself and tosses his tablet and glasses on the nightstand before switching off the light.

Cloaked in darkness, the two of you lie silently next to each other for a moment. Only the quiet hum of the air conditioning fills the room. But it’s anything but peaceful, and the longer you stir in silence, the worse this tension coiling between you and Whiskey gets.

“Jack?” you finally call out to him, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he responds. The sheets rustle as he turns to face you. You seek out his eyes in the darkness with only a sliver of moonlight peeking through the drawn curtains to help you.

“Will you hold me like last night?” you ask tentatively.

“Baby girl, I thought you’d never ask.”

You meet in the middle of the bed. His arms wrap around you as you lay you head on his chest, fisting the fabric of his shirt with one hand in a vain attempt to pull him closer as if your bodies aren’t already perfectly flush. You breathe in his familiar scent, something deep and rich and completely Jack Daniels, and you nearly sob at the relief of finally feeling him against you again. You're almost ashamed to say you’d been craving it ever since you untangled yourself from his grasp this morning. You don’t know how this happened; how this man, your coworker and partner, cast this spell over you so quickly. But as he strokes your back with a gentle hand, you start to accept that it was there for a long time. And you hope that he feels it, too.

… . …

With everyone presumably at work on a Monday in New York City, you and Agent Whiskey decide that’s the perfect time to do some investigative work at your targets’ private homes. It’s no easy task considering they all live in the best (and most secure) penthouse apartments and spacious townhomes money can buy in Manhattan, but things went surprisingly well with only a few minor hitches throughout the day. At least things were going well until you discovered your final mark had recently upgraded the security system for their Park Avenue townhome and then things went south. Fast.

You’d passed most of the evening arguing with your partner, albeit in hushed tones so as not to alert the other hotel guests. While you and Whiskey had your fair share of disagreements in the past – you both had a bit of a stubborn streak in you – this fight was particularly ugly. Eventually, you decide you’d had enough of him and so you lock yourself in the ensuite, hoping to drown your frustrations in a piping hot forty-five-minute shower. You spend most of your shower doing little more than standing directly under the stream of water and counting to ten repeatedly while attempting breathing exercises Ginger Ale had taught you in an effort to reign in your anger.

He’s gone when you exit the steamy bathroom and for a minute you worry. Then you quickly decide it’s not your place to worry about the man and you throw yourself dramatically onto the bed with the intention of forcing yourself to fall asleep before he returns.

When he finally slips back into the dark room an hour later, you’re still wide awake. Out of spite and stubbornness, you give him no indication of that fact. You are, however, surprised when he climbs into bed next to you. You figured tonight he really would opt for the uncomfortable couch rather than sleep next to you. After some time, you fall asleep with your backs turned to each other. You can't help but think that the distance between the two of you has never felt greater.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours later when you wake from a fitful sleep with the disheartening realization that you were both a little right and a little wrong. It leaves a horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach until you just can’t take it anymore. It’s the middle of the night, but you have to apologize right now. You reach across him to turn on the light and your light movements jostle the bed enough to wake him. Although, from the look on his face, you suspect he wasn’t sleeping well either.

Jack sits up so that he’s facing you fully and eyes you with an arched brow, patiently waiting for you to speak. Meanwhile, you’re chewing at your bottom lip and struggling to find the right words to express yourself now that you’ve got his attention.

“Do you know why I like working with you?” you finally ask, measuring each word carefully. “You’ve never doubted my abilities as an agent. Not because I’m a woman or because of any other stupid reason. You’ve always made me feel like your equal. Until today.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’. Truly, I am,” he answers seriously. His accent lacks the usual playful tone. “For a moment there I was sure I was going to lose you and I panicked, and I know now I should’ve listened to you. But please believe me when I say that I’ve never doubted you. Not once. The only thing I doubted today was my ability to keep you safe.”

“That’s not your job,” you assert.

“Like hell it isn’t,” Jack responds sternly. “You’re my partner.”

You nod, acquiescing. You couldn’t argue with that even if you wanted to; his safety is just as important to you. You take a deep breath before continuing. This is always the hardest part. “I’m sorry, too. For the way I reacted today. I was frustrated and it could’ve cost us this mission.”

“All is forgiven. You know that.” You sigh in relief when he hits you with one of his beaming smiles. The kind that makes his eyes crinkle in the corners. “You gonna let me hold you now?” he asks as he relaxes back into the plush pillows, gesturing to the space beside him. “I don’t know if I can sleep without you anymore.”

“After two nights?” you ask teasingly with a soft laugh.

“Best sleep I’ve gotten in a long time,” he says with a wicked grin. You can’t help but return the smile, knowing exactly what he means.

“Not yet,” you say coyly, summoning every ounce of courage you have before tentatively brushing your lips against his. You try to pull back so you can gauge his response, but there’s no need as he cups your face in his hands and brings your lips right back to his. This time the kiss is eager, hungry, and you return his enthusiasm with equal fervor. Your lips meld together perfectly and when his tongue slides into your mouth, you can’t help the little moan that escapes you.

When you finally pull apart, gasping for air, you both break out into a fit of laughter. This was probably a long time coming and yet it managed to catch you both by surprise. He places a few imperfect kisses, warped only by his smile, across your face and you fall back into bed with him.

The word _love_ imprints itself into your mind as you hold his gaze, but you don’t speak it into existence. Not yet. Even though the look in his eyes tells you he’s thinking the exact same thing. You just know he is because after all these years together you can read Jack Daniels like a book. But this thing between you is new, precious even. Maybe it’s been there for a while, but you’re only just now ready to accept it and there’s no need to rush things. Better to let it mature in its own time because you know it’s going to age well. Just like fine whiskey.

“Goodnight, Jack,” you whisper instead. You plant a light kiss on his soft lips, smiling as his mustache tickles you, before snuggling into the crook of his neck.

“I’m definitely going to sleep well now, my sweet girl,” He murmurs as he hugs you against him. In that moment you feel so safe, so cherished, so incredibly happy. Until- “Even if you do snore.”

“I do not!” you gasp and try to wriggle free so you can glare at him. He only laughs and holds you tighter, his arms wrapping firmly around you.

“Yeah, you do. Soft, little snores,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s cute.”


	2. Mission Complete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission continues as you and Agent Whiskey attempt to navigate your new relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After four months, I’m so relieved to finally have this out of my WIP folder. Anyway, the bed sharing trope continues! If part one was three nights of sharing the only bed during a mission, then this is two more nights + the last morning. 
> 
> **Chapter Warnings:** This is mostly fluff with a sprinkling of angst. Things get a little spicy but nothing really happens. Vague descriptions of injuries. Alcohol. Mild language.

It’s a solid week into your mission and a couple of days since you and Jack fought – and then made up. Spectacularly so, if you’re inclined to pass judgement. But there hasn’t been much time for fun. You’d spent plenty of time together, but not as yourselves. You’ve both been deep undercover and preoccupied with your mission. That was your job, after all.

Most mornings, you wake before him, reluctantly extracting yourself from his arms with little more than a soft kiss so as to not rouse him. Unfortunately, playing the part of a powerful CEO and socialite meant you had to put extra effort into your beauty routine. Although, that morning you had to leave the warmth of your partner’s embrace, much to your dismay, to drag yourself to a 6am Bikram yoga class along with a couple of the women you’re tasked with following. With such an early wake-up call and a full social calendar for the day, it was going to be a long one.

As it turned out, sweating your ass off in a hot yoga class at dawn pays off. You easily secured an invitation to an executives-only party at the most exclusive social club in the city. To say you concluded your day with a bit more glamor would be an understatement. The champagne and the conversation flowed easily, and within a few hours, you and Jack were able to collect and piece together the last bits of intel you needed to make your final move.

Now, as you stood across from your pretend husband on a busy sidewalk amidst New York’s late-night chaos waiting for your private town car to pull around the block, you couldn’t help but admire Jack. He always cut an impressive figure in his well-tailored suits and signature Stetson, but there is something about the way he looks surrounded by the sparkling city lights that takes your breath away and sends a shiver down your spine. One that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You know there’s not a lot to that dress darlin’,” he chides playfully even as he shrugs off his jacket. While the dress is tastefully modest, it’s also playfully short. Of course, when Jack first saw you earlier that night, he didn’t have any complaints. He’d twirled you around by your hand and let out a low whistle before drawling on about how the soft rose gold color was perfect for _his_ Agent Rosé. His words sent a glowing warmth across your cheeks and you knew then that you’d selected just the right dress. A fact only further confirmed every time you noticed Jack eying you throughout the night, earning himself a smirk from you when you inevitably caught him. He definitely likes the dress. Or, more likely, he likes the dress on you. Despite the warm summer night, you let him drape his jacket around your shoulders as you don’t quite want to admit the real cause of your chills.

“Lucky for me, my husband is such a gentleman,” you say with a wink as he opens the car door for you.

A short while later, you’re both back in your secure hotel room. After you finish reporting in for the night, you bid your handler a goodnight and hand the phone to Jack. Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, he starts on his debrief, as thorough and perceptive as ever, as he rolls up his shirtsleeves to his elbows. You watch intently, enjoying every bit of skin that’s revealed to you. This time he catches you staring and sends a wink your way all while never missing a beat as he continues his report. Still wearing his suit jacket, you pull the collar up to hide your bashful smile, only to get lost in his woodsy scent lingering on the jacket. It’s something that reminds you of warm summer’s in the south. Something intoxicatingly him.

When he stops his pacing to sit on one of the overstuffed chairs, his boots propped up on the overly ornate coffee table, you extract his phone from his jacket pocket and lean over the back of his chair, to use his face to biometrically unlock it. He’s still debriefing your handler but manages to shoot you a scolding look. But there’s no venom behind it. You can see the slight crinkle of amusement around his eyes.

You scroll through his rather limited music library – it’s everything you expect from him – until you select something familiar. It’s something old and slow and you swing your hips to the rhythm as you saunter up to the previously untouched bar cart. You take your time selecting the whiskey he’d like best, finally settling on something that’s not overly pretentious from this extravagant offering but still deliciously smooth.

You hand one of the crystal tumblers to him and he takes a generous drink, eyes never leaving you over the rim of his glass. With a twirl that sends your dress swishing around your thighs, you continue your solo dance around the room. You’re completely relaxed, eyes closed and swaying gently to the music as you sip at your drink.

You’re so into the music that you don’t notice Jack ended the call until he lifts his jacket off of you and tosses it aside carelessly. With gentle hands caressing your bare arms, he starts to lead your movements, pulling you back against his broad chest. You lean back happily, enjoying the feel of him behind you. He places a few soft kisses to your shoulder, before his lips move slowly up your neck until his mustache tickles a spot just under your ear. A light laugh escapes you as you turn around in his arms to beam at him.

He takes your glass and sets it down on a nearby end table, before guiding your arms around his neck. He pulls you flush against him with his own hands low on your hips. Jack holds you close, and you rest your head against him as you savor the moment. You weren’t able to share a dance like this at the party; you were both much too focused on your mission. But now you could just be yourselves. You smile as you imagine it always being this way – the two of you would be partners, always.

It’s late and you should be tired but there’s just enough adrenaline from the mission coursing through your veins to keep you awake. You know you should go to bed. Logically, that would be the smart thing to do. You’ve got another big day ahead of you tomorrow – things are finally coming to a head with the insider trading ring – but you can’t tear yourself away from him. A few songs pass but you quickly lose track of the number. You’re not paying attention to the music. Just the man holding you. You want the moment to last as long as possible. Jack didn’t seem to be in any rush either, so you continued your slow dance.

As another song ends, you lean away just far enough to look up at him. His solemn dark eyes met yours and you shift under his stare, suddenly anticipating _something_. Just what, you weren’t sure.

He seems to know exactly what you need as he presses his lips softly against yours. The kiss is just a light, fleeting thing but it hints at more. He doesn’t pull away completely. He just hovers there, his mouth mere centimeters from you, as he regards you.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he sighs, one hand sliding up your back to press you impossibly closer to him, “I don’t know how someone like me got so damn lucky.”

“You’re not the only lucky one, handsome,” you say, smiling against his lips.

This time he kisses you deeply. It’s long and slow, and your mouths slot together perfectly again and again until your lungs are burning. You finally part out of mere necessity, stealing kisses in between gasps for air as both of you are loath to stop for even a moment.

“Let me take you to bed, sweetheart,” he mumbles quietly, leaning his forehead against yours. You hear the implication behind his words. His offer is different than the past couple of nights and it would undoubtedly change everything between the two of you. But it is exactly where you want your blooming relationship to go.

“Please, Jack,” you answer breathlessly.

Without breaking his hold on you, he walks you back to the lavish king-sized bed the two of you had been sharing for the past week and lays you on the plush, downy bed with the utmost care. In that moment, you’re so taken by his duality. He’s strong and confident, bordering on brazen, but he always handles you so tenderly. Almost as if you’re something precious and not just the self-sufficient, capable agent that most others view you as. The thought crosses your mind that maybe to him, you are precious. Unable to even wrap your mind around that notion, you pull him down by the collar so that his mouth meets yours once more and you kiss him with new fervor.

He matches your excitement, and you sigh happily when you feel a strong hand slip past the hem of your dress.

“You like that?” he teases, caressing your thigh. You nod with a coy smile and hum contentedly. “Let’s see what else my girl likes.”

... . ...

Your plan to gather the last bit of evidence you needed from one of the white-collar criminal’s Wall Street office didn’t go as smoothly as you’d hoped it would and the night ended with a shootout spanning several floors of a skyscraper. Your covers are officially blown but it doesn’t matter – the mission is over. And it was a success.

Well, except for the fact that Jack was injured and threatening to bleed out where he stood next to you. Of course, he failed to mention that minor detail until you were in the elevator on your way up to your room.

Water droplets drip off of your rain-soaked tactical clothes as you dump the contents of your Statesman-issued medical kit on the pristine marble countertop in your hotel bathroom. Your hands shake – from the cold or your nerves, you’re not sure – as you sort through the various medical supplies, searching for something usable.

“Darlin’, let me,” Jack insists. He reaches for your hand only to recoil at the smear of red he leaves with his touch.

“I’ve got this,” you assure him – and yourself. He’s been your partner for years. You’ve patched him up dozens of times and he’s done the same for you on just as many occasions. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it feels different.

You take a deep, steadying breath before picking up a container of a healing balm Ginger Ale designed for minor field wounds. It wasn’t nearly as strong as her alpha gel, but you don’t need it to be. Upon closer inspection, it looked like the bullet that grazed Jack’s side missed anything critical. Still, there’s a lot more blood seeping through his white undershirt that you want to see. You motion for him to lift his shirt and he complies. Skilled in field dressings, your nimble fingers make quick work of patching him up and the gel seals the wound almost instantly.

“I thought I was going to lose you, Jack,” you admit, gnawing at your bottom lip. You affix a bandage over the quickly disappearing gash out of habit and as a small comfort to yourself. “I just got you.”

“Baby girl, you’re not gonna lose me,” he says with a pained expression, “I promise you.”

“How can you promise anything like that in our line of work?” This is nothing more than a normal Saturday for the two of you. You take a step back from him, shaking your head. “Oh God, this is why I don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what exactly?” he asks pointedly, his brows knitting above narrowed eyes. There’s a new edge to his voice.

“This,” you answer, gesturing broadly between your bruised and battered bodies, “Relationships. It doesn’t matter if it’s with other agents or civilians. It’s– It’s too dangerous.” Your eyes well with tears and you wrap your arms around yourself to try and stop the trembling, wishing in vain that you would calm down. But it’s not working. Even breathing feels difficult and your breaths come in short and shallow. Surely, he can see that the lives you both live are not conductive to love. Attachments like this are nothing short of dangerous. “I can’t– It’s too hard.”

“It’s not supposed to be easy,” he responds curtly, “And it’s definitely not going to be easy for us.”

He reaches out for your hand and draws you closer. In the back of your mind you know you should put up more of a fight, but when he looks at you with those wide brown eyes, full of concern, you’re all but helpless to him.

“Baby, I want this with you. And I never thought I’d want anything like this again. Not after…” he trails off, but you know exactly who he was referring to. He swallows hard, pushing down whatever emotions were creeping up, before continuing. “I know damn well just how hard it is to lose the people you love most. But I’m willing to try again for you.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper as you slip your hand out of his grasp.

And Jack–

He lets go.

Jack is a man known for fighting for what he wants, but he’s willing to let you go if that's what you want.

You should walk away while you still can. Leave behind whatever happened between the two of you on this godforsaken mission in this hotel room, in between those damned bedsheets, and forget it ever happened. You spent your entire life pushing people away and closing yourself off to anything that might resemble love to protect yourself. Your ability to detach is part of what makes you a good agent. And it keeps you safe.

But when his hand drops from yours, your heart shatters and the feeling is unbearable.

As difficult as it is to know you almost lost Jack that night, losing him like this, by your own hand, is infinitely worse. You could run and protect yourself. Or you could stay and protect each other. And really, that’s not so different from what you’ve been doing all these years. The stakes are just a little higher now. You have faith that it’ll be worth the risk.

You take a hesitant step toward him, closing the distance you put between the two of you. Trailing gentle fingers along his jawline, you cup his face and make sure he’s looking at you. “Okay,” you say, your words barely more than a breath.

“Okay, what?” he asks, his eyes searching yours. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I want this too. I want you, Jack–” Your mouths collide messily before you can even finish your sentence. There’s a new urgency to your kisses and you hold onto him as if your life depended on it. Maybe it does. Maybe it always did. He breathes new life into your lungs. “I’m sorry,” you choke out in between kisses, “I was just scared.” Scared of what happened that night and for the future.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” he promises you, and you believe him. “Hell, I was scared too.”

“I didn’t think Jack Daniels was scared of anything,” you try teasing him as he wipes away the few errant tears marring your cheeks.

“There’s nothing on any mission that can scare me now. But the thought of losing you? That terrifies me.” You wrap your arms around his neck and hug him with as much strength as you can muster. 

“It won’t happen again. I’m not scared anymore,” you speak into the wet cloth of his shirt. What you have is so new and fragile. And, up until that moment, completely untested. But not anymore. “I’m with you, Jack.”

“And I’m with you,” he replies, squeezing you a little tighter, “Don’t doubt that.”

He holds you against him for a long time, before finally letting go and moving toward the shower.

“C’mere, baby,” he starts as he turns on the water to the hottest setting, “You look like a half-drowned kitten someone fished out of a river in the middle of a hurricane.” You give him a look, and he matches it with one of his own. Of course, you don’t need even a passing glance at the mirror to know he’s right. He seems to know exactly when you acquiesce, and his mouth curves into a smile. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

After a long, hot shower, he leads you to your shared bed one last time. Too tired to do anything more than be held by him. As you curl against him, you think he holds you to him even tighter than normal, but you don’t mind as you rest your head on his chest. You listen to his heartbeat strong and steady in his chest. It’s a solid reminder that he is still here, alive and with you. Somehow, you both survived another day. And although your fear took hold of you for a moment, he was strong and steady for the both of you.

“Thank you, Jack,” you whisper into the night.

“For what, sweetheart?” he mumbles tiredly, wavering on the brink of exhaustion.

“For keeping me sane,” you answer around a smile.

You feel the _humph_ in his chest more than you hear it. “Sane? Don’t think I don’t have some thoughts about you running headfirst into a hailstorm of bullets tonight just to salvage this mission. But we’ll talk about your apparent death wish later.” 

Even in the dark you can tell he’s smiling – and so are you. You both have some adjustments to make, but you’re going to be alright.

... . ...

You wake the next morning, still wrapped in Jack’s arms, to the feeling of soft kisses trailing along your jawline and across your cheek. You stay still, enjoying the sensation of his lips on your skin, until you can’t help but smile at his ministrations. 

“I knew you were awake,” Jack murmurs against your face, his deep voice hoarse from sleep. He’s clearly not awake yet himself. He presses a light kiss to your lips, and you sigh against him. This is infinitely better than any alarm clock.

Still reluctant to open your eyes, you hum contentedly and stretch a little, lifting your arms above your head before draping one across Jack’s middle and soothing a hand across his stomach. “I could get used to waking up like this.”

“I sure hope so, sweetheart,” he says as he brushes the pad of his thumb across your cheek. For a man so well versed in violence and bloodshed, his caresses were so tender and sweet. It makes your heart flutter wildly against your ribcage. “I hate to wake you, but Champ wants us back in Kentucky and our flight’s scheduled to leave at 9:00.”

You scowl at that as you finally open your eyes. The room is brighter than normal as you’d forgotten to draw the curtains the night before and the distant sounds of traffic – screeching cars and blaring horns – on the busy street below drift up to your room, slowly pulling you back to reality. “I don’t want to leave. I don’t want this mission to end,” you say, pulling the downy comforter over your face and snuggling back into bed to avoid looking at him.

“And why’s that?” he asks with a laugh, amused at your antics. A gentle hand tugs at the covers but you hold steady.

“I like it here. Right here, in this bed, with you,” you grumble. Here, where you weren’t worried about the week’s mission and felt far away from the responsibilities and expectations of your job, you didn’t have to be Agents Whiskey and Rosé. The two of you are finally allowed, however briefly, to just be yourselves. Together. You lower the comforter just enough to peek out at him, “What if things change when we go back?”

For a long while, Jack only nods, clearly thinking your words over carefully.

“It’ll be different than this,” he says, gesturing to the luxurious room around you. You’d both grown more than used to your chic Manhattan home over the last week. “But I can assure you, without a doubt, that it’ll be even better.”

A small smile starts to pull at the corners of your lips at his confidence. “What makes you say that?”

“Because we’re going back home, and although our lives may be unconventional, to say the least, we’re going back together.” He laces his fingers with yours, holding your interwoven hands to his chest. “What could be better than that?”

“I think I love you, Jack.” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. But the sentiment is true, and you don’t regret it. Not after all of this time. If he could be so confident and assured in your newfound love, then so could you.

“Oh, baby,” he sighs, “I know I love you.” He leans down and seals his lips to yours in a kiss that brands itself onto your heart.

“You know what?” Jack says with a devilish smile as he rolls away from you to pick up his phone on the nightstand, “We’re taking a Statesman jet back to HQ. They can wait for us.” He fires off a text and you can’t help but laugh. He turns back to you, covering your body with his, “Now, Agent Rosé, where were we?”

You stop him, dodging his kiss as you grin against his cheek and card your fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. “I have a better idea.”

He quirks a brow at you, intrigued but clearly doubting whatever you were going to say next would best his plans.

“Let’s order room service,” you propose with a smirk, “Champagne and pancakes. The works.”

An equally mischievous smile breaks out on his face. “I love the way you think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading – especially after all this time!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @tiffdawg :)


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